Wolves in the Fold
by Frogstaff
Summary: This was an entry into 1000 word February Writing Challange at www.armoredcoreonline.com. This is the tale of a man who has used troubled times to become a predator, but there are always those ready to hunt the hunters...


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Wolves in the Fold  
  
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Kresniak watched dust devils spin past his viewscreen. His Core was perched amidst the debris marking the rim of a shallow crater, it's dusky brown paint job nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding terrain. He'd been waiting there for hours. He'd laid out the bait, he just had to see if anyone was going to come and take it  
  
He fondly ran his fingers over the line of kill scores etched into the surface of the control console. Forty seven AC kills. His mouth stretched in an anticipatory grin. Nine of those had been before the destruction of the Raven's Nest, when he'd gone by the handle Deadshot, but following that, as the war between Chrome and Murakumo had ground to its bloody close and chaos had gripped the world, he'd taken a new moniker, to reflect his new mission: Raven Hunter.  
  
The brotherhood was gone, most of the Ravens slain in the fireball that had consumed the Nest. The survivors were solitary, scattered, easy pickings. He hadn't been anything special back amongst the Ravens, but now, his was a name to be feared.  
  
He gave his weapons another quick check, making sure that everything was primed and ready. This was evolution at its finest; only the brutal survived. The weak cowered, congregated in herds, bleating that they were rebuilding the Ravens. It was his greatest pleasure to hunt down and slaughter the sheep.  
  
A blip appeared on his radar. Someone had taken the bait. He'd left a false lead that evidence about the parties responsible for the destruction of the Nest was in the aircraft wreckage in the crater. He knew that if one of those pathetic self-proclaimed Ravens found it, they wouldn't be able to resist.  
  
They were careful, but not careful enough, passing almost right beneath where he'd concealed himself. It was a tank design, armed and armored to the teeth. It was easy meat.  
  
Kresniak powered up his Core, the grenade launcher reaching over his shoulder. His Core's four legs moved effortlessly over the rocks as he pounded a grenade into the other Core's undefended back. It began to turn, but he sent it skidding into the rock face with another grenade, and then another. He was only thirty meters away when the other Core finally brought its rifle to bear on him. The GNL retracted as his boosters flared, and he shot forward.  
  
The force of the impact rattled Kresniak's teeth, but it also drove his laser sword straight through the other Core's torso, and wrenching his arm up, he tore the sword up, and out through the Core's head. The other AC shuddered, and then died without even getting off a single shot.  
  
He backed off, and fired one more grenade as a parting shot. The other Core's ammo stores cooked off and flames licked over the metal. A crackle of static came over his radio. Perhaps it was the other pilot, asking one final question. Kresniak could imagine what it was. "No warning, no mercy. The strong thrive, and the weak burn," he said softly, and began to engrave another emblem on the console.  
  
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Kresniak sat at the back of the bar, facing the door. He tapped his foot softly, feeling the reassuring weight on the pistol in the holster at his ankle. An automatic rode on his hip, and a sawed off shotgun was tucked into a holster behind his back. It made sitting back slightly uncomfortable, but he'd made a lot of enemies and it was an inconvenience he could tolerate.  
  
The man he was waiting for entered the bar and carefully approached the table. "You're late Sandoval." Since he was a friend, Kresniak casually slid a hand down to the pistol on his hip. "You don't show up late to meetings you call."  
  
Sandoval shrugged and sat down. "I've taken up Lana Nielson's offer, and joined her Ravens," he said without preamble.  
  
"That's a shame. I liked you." Kresniak tensed, waiting to see what Sandoval's next action would be.  
  
He leaned back and sighed. "I thought I owed you that much. We used to be partners." He leaned forward and locked eyes with Kresniak. "Do you know how many people want you dead?"  
  
"Enough to make my life interesting." He relaxed somewhat. "The Ravens were wiped out, and now the remainder bleat and huddle." He grinned wolfishly. "I'm winnowing out the weak."  
  
"No, you're murdering for kicks."  
  
"Why are you here?" Kresniak demanded, his temper flaring.  
  
"To give you a warning. Lana's Ravens aren't like the rest. We _are_ the successors. Those who oppose us, those who hunt us will die. I was your friend, so I'm delivering you a warning-."  
  
Kresniak let his hand fall from his gun. Sandoval was a harmless sop. "Join up or die?" He laughed. "Tell that dumb bitch where she can stuff her offer. I'm the wolf. I don't play with the sheep."  
  
"You're a mad dog." There was a sound like someone kicking the table three times. Kresniak tried to draw his pistol, but his hand wouldn't move. He looked down at the bloody ruin of his belly. Across the table Sandoval took his hand from beneath the table, sliding the silenced pistol back into a concealed holster in the leg of his pants.  
  
"Lana wanted to give you to Nineball. You were a rogue with too much power. She wanted to make an example of you." He put his face to Kresniak's. "Do you know how many people hate you? Everyone. Joining us would have been your last chance, but..." He trailed off into a whisper. "This was a mercy for a former friend. Nineball would've made you into a much more explicit lesson of what happens to those who stand against the Ravens." There was a sound like a hard, wet cough as the bullets in Kresniak's belly detonated. "No warning, no mercy," Sandoval said, striding from the bar, not looking back as his former friend's head slowly sank to the table.  
  
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*Author's Notes*  
  
This was my entry for the Armored Core Online February Writing Challenge, which set a limit of 1000 words for entries. Abrupt violence is pretty easy to work into a short story, so that's what this has, in spades. 


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